


under the knife

by ObscureReference



Category: Fire Emblem: If | Fire Emblem: Fates
Genre: Cooking, M/M, Minor Injuries, Nerve Damage, Numbness, Parent-Child Relationship, magical healing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-03
Updated: 2019-01-03
Packaged: 2019-10-03 08:39:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17280761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ObscureReference/pseuds/ObscureReference
Summary: “Doesn’tit hurt?” Siegbert repeated anxiously, his voice echoing off the stones. He kept glancing from Laslow’s hand to his face. “You didn’t stop after you cut yourself. You just kept talking like you didn’t even notice. Can’t you feel it?”Laslow briefly debated the merits of telling Siegbert the truth before deciding that was probably better than a lie.“As a matter of fact, I can’t,” Laslow said.





	under the knife

**Author's Note:**

> The fact that Henry has canonical genetic nerve damage and thus has a high pain tolerance/doesn't feel pain was brought to my attention by tumblr user moondust-and-starshine. They mentioned Inigo inheriting the same nerve damage as Henry's son. From that, I was inspired to eventually write this fic! 
> 
> (Minor spoilers!) I wrote this in an effort to explore both Laslow's relationship with his own son (Siegbert, since I wrote Soleil in the my last fic) and also talk about his nerve damage a bit. I think he'd be rather matter-of-fact and adjusted to it by the time he's an adult. Maybe a bit similar to Henry in his nonchalance. But also it's also pretty canonical that some people reacted poorly to Henry's nonchalance when it came to his own injuries (on top of the other dark jokes Henry was prone to make), and so Laslow might have inherited a bit of worry over what other people thought about that regarding himself as well.
> 
> Negative reactions to Laslow's genetic nerve damage do not happen explicitly in this fic! But the fear of such is mentioned and other people reacting badly to Henry's general personality (as a result of or combined with the fact he can't really feel pain) in the past is also mentioned. So be aware! I wanted to explore something different and canon while also being sensitive, so I hope I did well. Feel free to point it out to me if I did not! It's a learning process.
> 
> I'll be traveling back to Japan in the morning! See you all later!
> 
> Happy New Year!

“Yes, just like that,” Laslow told him. He held a potato in one hand and a small kitchen knife in the other, but his attention was turned toward his son. “Not too thin now. That’s it.”

“Thank you,” Siegbert said reflexively.

He was still young. Maybe one day he would have his other father’s height, but right now Siegbert took after Laslow in more ways than one. He only came up to about Laslow’s shoulder. Laslow wasn’t sure if Siegbert ever be as tall as Xander, though Siegbert was still young enough to surprise them. He wondered if that weighed thought on his son’s mind as much as everything else seemed to.

Siegbert pressed his lips together in concentration—his most obvious tell. Laslow waited patiently, silently, until Siegbert spoke up again.

“Excuse me,” Siegbert said after a minute of careful thinking. “But… Why are we doing this?”

He was referring to the spread of vegetables and meat laid out before them, including the few chunks of carrot Siegbert had already sliced onto his cutting board. “This” was just the beginning of what Laslow had planned for the next hour or so.

Laslow raised his eyebrow skeptically.

“Hm? What’s that? You think being the crown prince means other people will cook for you all the time, forever? That’s unusually arrogant of you, son.”

Siegbert squeaked. “No! Not at all! I’m very sorry!”

His face was screwed up tight with nerves and embarrassment as he whipped his head back down to focus on the cutting board. Siegbert gripped the carrot with careful diligence, ready to resume the lesson.

Laslow frowned, gently wrapping his fingers around his son’s wrist, carefully not to jostle the knife in Siegbert’s hand. Siegbert anxiously glanced up at him.

“I was only teasing,” Laslow said gently. Siegbert’s shoulders fell with relief. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for you to take me seriously.”

Siegbert nodded. Jerky at first, but he breathed in through his nose and out through his mouth, eventually relaxing. Laslow let go of his wrist. Siegbert still gripped his chopping knife more tightly than he should have, but he at least looked less likely to give himself an ulcer now.

Laslow refrained from sighing. To be honest, their cooking lesson for the afternoon was a rather impromptu one. Laslow wasn’t even a very _good_ cook. Normally Siegbert’s days were filled with tutors and lessons of every variety, but this afternoon Siegbert’s history tutor had canceled due to a sudden bout of the flu. A minor inconvenience, really, but none of Siegbert’s other tutors could prepare a proper lesson without more prep time. While Xander was a fitting replacement due to his own tutelage, the king was also too busy to reschedule his own duties on such short notice.

Which left Laslow as the sole caretaker of their son for the afternoon. Thankfully Soleil’s own nanny and tutor were watching over their youngest child in the meanwhile.

Truthfully, Laslow wasn’t very familiar with Nohr’s history outside of the years he’d lived here. He normally would have used that as an excuse to give Siegbert the afternoon off rather than fill in as another teacher; gods knew their son was always busy with one lesson or another these days, though he was only twelve still. Laslow had been initially unsure about how often Xander suggested handing Siegbert over to his tutors at the beginning, but Xander had emphasized Siegbert’s education above all else when he’d been born—at least until he’d managed the basics, Xander had said. A king’s education was just as important as his diplomatic or swordsman skills. He needed to know a little bit of everything if he hoped to take care of all the various people who he’d watch over one day. He needed to understand the world around him and the consequences of his actions within it.

Laslow’s heart still grew heavy at the thought of how much time Siegbert—and Soleil, though she was young enough that her lessons didn’t go far beyond spelling and basic math at this point—spent in schooling when he should have been running free like any child his age. But Laslow also agreed their children’s education couldn’t be neglected, especially if they were going to lead the people of Nohr some day. And so here they were. Siegbert and Soleil were still given two days of free time a week where they weren’t under any obligation to study. The other days of the week were spent in various lessons under differing tutors.

A generous offer, Xander had said in a neutral voice when Laslow had suggested the weekly two-day break for their children. No doubt he had been thinking of his own childhood under his own father’s supervision. Laslow doubted Xander had ever been given such regular breaks.

But Laslow had put his foot down, and Xander had agreed—without much reluctance, Laslow had noted at the time. Perhaps Xander had mourned his own loss of personal time when he had been Siegbert’s age. At the very least, he understood how necessary it was now.

That said, no matter how many excuses Laslow offered him with the occasions arose, Siegbert always threw himself into his studies with vigor. Sometimes it was out of genuine curiosity over a topic, sure. But more often than not Laslow found himself staring at Siegbert’s hunched back as his son worked over one problem or another, gauging the weight Siegbert felt on his shoulders.

Soleil used her free time to tumble around outside in the dirt. Siegbert used his to read ahead in his texts.

If Laslow gave him time off today, he knew Siegbert would just use the afternoon to study in some way or another anyhow. So he figured he’d turn a missed history lesson into a bonding session instead. A little father-son time under the guise of furthering Siegbert’s education. It had seemed rather clever when he’d thought of it.

Until Laslow realized Siegbert already had a sword lesson scheduled for that evening, so he couldn’t exhaust Siegbert with a lesson of his own only a few hours before. The same went for dance lessons; Siegbert practiced diligently enough, but he was more interested in Nohrian waltzes and the like—dances that princes were expected to know. Laslow didn’t have much experience with those, though he’d learned for his husband’s sake. Xander was the better teacher there, more in line with Siegbert’s interests. On top of that, while Laslow had no doubt his son would indulge him in more contemporary or fanciful works if suggested, he still didn’t want to tire Siegbert out hours before a sword lesson. Which had crossed those two options off the list.

Laslow didn’t have many other notable skills.

Cooking was not even a _talent_ of his, per say. Laslow certainly had scrambled for something to do last minute. But he was passable, and anyway, the kitchen was empty at this time of day. Anyone could do the basics. Siegbert would eventually need to learn too, so why not now?

Which had led them to this moment, sequestered in their little corner of the kitchen. Laslow stood to Siegbert’s right, a potato and knife placed on a cutting board in front of him. To his left, Siegbert’s station mirrored him.

“The point of this is just to learn how to cook something basic,” Laslow assured Siegbert. “Something easy but filling. You never know when you’ll be out on your own somewhere. Even a king must help around the campsite from time to time. And you never know when you’ll find yourself alone out there.”

Siegbert nodded diligently.

“It doesn’t have to be delicious, and you don’t have to be an expert,” Laslow continued, beginning to slice the peel off his small potato. “Foraging for food may assure you don’t starve, but it’s not going to keep your camp’s morale up very much in the long run. You can’t eat meat raw either. So learning a few basic dishes will get you rather far if you’re stuck somewhere on your own or with a small group.”

Not that Laslow ever planned on Siegbert to be traveling by himself anytime soon. But better safe than sorry, he always said. He’d had to learn the hard way when he was young. Better to teach Siegbert a few easy survival skills now than to regret it later.

Laslow brushed that heavy thought aside and kept peeling.

“I understand,” Siegbert said, gazing down at his cutting board. With a concentrated look on his face, he began cutting the rest of his carrot into slices. “This is an important lesson. Thank you.”

Laslow laughed. “Don’t thank me yet! We’ll see how well we actually manage to cook something edible. It’s been a while since I’ve done this, you know.”

He threw in a wink for good measure. Siegbert laughed at that, relaxing even further. That was a nice change. Laslow didn’t care how their meal turned out so long as Siegbert felt good while making it.

“Very good,” Laslow praised with a smile when Siegbert finished his first carrot. Siegbert flushed, pleased. “Would you mind doing a few more?”

Siegbert nodded. He grabbed two more carrots from the pile. They were rather small carrots, but only Siegbert and Laslow would eat the stew for a late lunch when they were finished, so they didn’t need many.

“In a minute we can swap vegetables so you can get used to peeling potatoes too,” Laslow said absently.

They had potatoes and carrots already, he mentally noted. Their pot was boiling over a small fire. They could peel onions next, he thought, though that was tear-inducing work. Literally. But it had to be done. The meat would be thrown in last.

A rather plain meal, really, but one couldn’t be choosy in the wild.

“I understand,” Siegbert said without lifting his head, still chopping carrots. Then, after a minute or so of working in silence, he added, “Dad?”

“Yes?”

Now that Laslow had finished his first potato, the rhythm had come back to him. He was slicing the peel without thinking much of them now. His small knife glided easily through the vegetable’s skin.

“Is there…”

Siegbert took a longer moment than usual to gather his thoughts. Laslow patiently waited again, but this time he glanced over to make sure Siegbert was doing alright. Siegbert looked fine, if only a bit focused. He didn’t stop cutting the carrots, so Laslow didn’t stop either.

“Yes?” Laslow eventually prompted.

Siegbert’s shoulder’s jumped in surprise. His fingers tightened around the knife briefly, but to Laslow’s relief, he didn’t drop the knife or cut himself. He was merely startled.

“Yes,” Siegbert breathed. Then he shook his head and continued, starting on the third carrot. “Sorry. I meant to ask… Is there anything more I could be doing right now?”

“You’re doing fine,” Laslow assured him. “You only have one set of hands, after all.”

“No, I mean…” Siegbert shifted his weight. “Is there anything _more_ I could be doing? In general, I mean. To live up to Father.”

His stilted words were as close as inarticulate as Siegbert ever became, even at age twelve. It was moments like this that Laslow guiltily noticed his family’s history of shyness manifesting in his son.

“Siegbert,” he sighed, placing a now finished potato aside to squeeze his son’s shoulder. Siegbert smiled up at him uneasily. When he continued cutting carrots and didn’t say anything more, Laslow took the hint and grabbed a new potato.

Laslow said, “Siegbert, don’t worry about anything like that right now. You’re doing so much already. Way more than most children your age are doing. Don’t try to grow up too fast, okay?”

Siegbert’s lips pressed together.

“I suppose,” he said unhappily.

So Laslow continued.

“I mean it,” he said. “You study day and night. Your father and I both see how hard you push yourself. Everyone else sees how hard you’re working too. But you’re allowed some free time too. You’re still young.”

“Young I may be,” Siegbert said with a slowness that Laslow suspected meant he was reciting something—a quote from a book or a teacher, perhaps. “But I am still a prince, and I have a responsibility to uphold.”

“You have responsibilities relative to your _age_ ,” Laslow countered, now more focused on his son than the cooking. “One day, your responsibility will be to run the kingdom, yes. But right now it’s your responsibility to study the texts your tutors assign and do your best in your daily tasks. Which you are. So you’re already doing very well!”

Laslow smiled at him. Siegbert glanced at his feet, uncomfortable.

“Are you sure?” he asked. “There must be _something_ I could strive to do better in.”

“You are already studying so much more than I ever did,” Laslow told him. “Your father and I have knowledge and experience that comes with age. But I have no doubt you’ll surpass us one day when you have your own experiences behind you.”

“Impossible!” Siegbert said hastily, head jerking up in surprise. “I know I idolize Father a lot, but Dad, you—”

“It’s alright,” Laslow said. “I just hope you understand me when I say I have complete faith in your capabilities as a future king. Not now, of course. But when the time comes. Which won’t be anytime soon, trust me. And even when it does, protecting Nohr will never be a responsibility that rests solely on your shoulders. You have Soleil to rely on. And your cousins. And your aunts and uncle. And your father and I, of course. You never have to worry about doing this alone, understand?”

“Dad,” Siegbert said, his eyes wide.

Laslow looked at him and smiled, absently peeling the potato. “So don’t worry about doing more now when you’re already doing way more than any—”

_“Dad!”_

Siegbert’s cry pierced Laslow’s lecture haze. He froze and quickly followed Siegbert’s line of sight to his own hands. There he saw his mistake.

He’d been so caught up in reassuring Siegber that he hadn’t even noticed slicing the side of his thumb open with the tip of his knife. The blade had caught him along the left thumb, tearing the skin that ran along the side of Laslow’s palm to the tip of his finger. Right along the numb part of Laslow’s hand, so of course he hadn’t noticed until Siegbert pointed it out.

Laslow mentally chided himself for his carelessness. A small stream of blood poured from the cut and over Laslow’s hand, dripping onto the counter.

“Shit,” Laslow hissed. He hastily dropped the potato on the cutting board. It rolled into the small puddle of blood that had pooled on the board without his noticing.

He saw Siegbert’s startled expression out of the corner of his eye and tried to soothe his son with another smile, jerking his head toward the now ruined potato. “Well. That’s probably unusable, isn’t it?”

“Are you alright?” Siegbert blurted. Before Laslow could answer, he snatched a clean towel from the counter and hastily shoved it in Laslow’s direction.

Laslow wrapped the towel around his thumb, putting pressure on the wound. He couldn’t feel the pain from the cut, but he felt the pulse of blood leave the wound with every beat of his heart.

It wasn’t a _terrible_ cut, he thought. It probably needed to be looked at though.

Siegbert’s heavy gaze on him felt more important, though.

“Dad?” Siegbert said loudly, still sounding startled. He stared at Laslow’s hand under the towel.

Laslow didn’t let his smile drop. It may have been more of a grimace, but he tried, at least.

“It’s alright,” he said. “Your father just wasn’t paying attention. Help me take that pot off the stove, would you? We can clean up in a moment.”

Because Siegbert was the most diligent of children, he immediately took the pot off the fire so the water was no longer on the verge of boiling. He also began searching for a bowl of water to put out the flames, but he kept glancing at Laslow as though afraid to find his father keeled over at any moment. It was definitely more worry than a little accident like this warranted, Laslow thought.

“I can clean up while you go to the infirmary,” Siegbert suggested. He bit his lip. “Or should I escort you?”

“I think I can make it to the infirmary by myself,” Laslow assured him. “It’s just a little cut on my hand.”

“It’s bleeding a lot though,” Siegbert said. He doused the stove fire.

“Nonsense.” Laslow shook his head and reached out with his good hand to push some of the vegetables further out of the way. “I’ve certainly—”

“Dad, _stop_ ,” Siegbert said, surprising Laslow again. “You have to keep pressure on the wound, remember?”

Blinking, Laslow followed his son’s instructions and wrapped his good hand around the towel again, keeping pressure on his cut. His thumb pulsed dully. It was a white towel, and the stains from the blood were clearly visible through the cloth. Siegbert noted the stains with a worried frown.

Laslow had just been _scolded._ By a twelve year old, no less.

Siegbert really was his father’s son. Laslow felt a strange twist of incredulity and pride.

“Okay,” Siegbert said in a strangely “take charge” type of voice.

This was usually the type of situation where the parent took over, Laslow thought, but part of him wanted to hang back and see what Siegbert would do, so he waited.

“The food can wait for now, right? The fire is out. So I’m going to take you to the infirmary, and we can come back to clean later. We can apologize to anyone who gets here before us to clean. I can even come back while you’re getting looked at if it’s that important. Does that sound like a good plan?”

That last part was clearly directed at Laslow for confirmation. Siegbert’s sudden surge of confidence had lasted for all of about ten seconds. He buckled when it finally came to the execution, wavering in the wake of Laslow’s theoretical opinion. It was a good start, at any rate. Especially for someone as prone to bouts of uncertainty like Siegbert.

“Sounds good,” Laslow agreed smoothly. It _was_ a good plan. Laslow probably would have suggested something similar if he’d recognized Siegbert’s determination not to leave his side sooner.

He kept the now ruined towel wrapped around his thumb and followed Siegbert out into the hall. Siegbert ran a few feet ahead, looking back at Laslow as though afraid his father wouldn’t follow. As though Laslow hadn’t been walking these halls long before Siegbert had ever arrived. Though unwarranted, his son’s concern was touching.

“Why are you laughing?” Siegbert asked, still frowning, when Laslow reached him. He shifted his feet like he wanted to run ahead again, but this time he stayed by Laslow’s side. “You’re hurt.”

“No reason.” Laslow cleared his throat and tried to smother his smile. It didn’t work.

When Siegbert peered up at him, looking fearful for his father’s sanity, Laslow chuckled and said, “I just appreciate the concern is all. Thank you, Siegbert.”

Siegbert’s frown didn’t disappear. But he glanced down the empty hallway and started pushing Laslow along, urging him to walk faster. Laslow gave into his son’s badgering a bit, but he more or less kept an easy pace.

“Slow down,” he said. “I’m not dying, you know.”

“But doesn’t it _hurt_?”

There was a strange tone to Siegbert’s voice. Laslow looked at him.

“ _Doesn’t_ it hurt?” Siegbert repeated anxiously, his voice echoing off the stones. He kept glancing from Laslow’s hand to his face. “You didn’t stop after you cut yourself. You just kept talking like you didn’t even notice. Can’t you feel it?”

Laslow briefly debated the merits of telling Siegbert the truth before deciding that was probably better than a lie.

“As a matter of fact, I can’t,” Laslow said.

Siegbert’s mouth fell open. He looked ready to panic, but Laslow cut him off again.

“I’ve never told you or Soleil this, but I can’t feel certain parts of my body the way most people do.” He gestured with his injured hand. “Including my left hand. Most of my left arm, actually. My own father was the same way. I’m used to it, and it doesn’t bother me much. Except for times like now.”

“Your own father…”

Siegbert echoed him, but it wasn’t quite a question, so Laslow let him puzzle that one over. He’d tried to keep his tone matter of fact.

They were halfway to the infirmary by this point.

After a moment, Siegbert spoke up again.

“Then Soleil or I, we could have also…”

“Possibly,” Laslow said. “But your father and I watched you carefully when you were young, and neither of you showed any signs of nerve damage like me. So unless you have a numb foot or something you never told us about, neither you or Soleil inherited it.”

Siegbert digested this. Then he shook his head.

“Can I ask…” Siegbert was still frowning at Laslow’s bloodied hand under the towel, but it was more considering this time. Less panicked. “How does it feel?”

“It doesn’t.”

Laslow laughed at the joke and Siegbert’s expression. His words sounded like something his own father would say. With that, he continued.

“I don’t have feeling in my left hand,” he explained patiently. “I can move it, obviously, but it doesn’t sense things the way my right hand does. I feel pressure, but not things like hot or cold or pain.”

Siegbert nodded. “That sounds helpful?”

Laslow shrugged.

“It can be,” he said, because that wasn’t wrong. But he wanted Siegbert to know the rest too. “Mostly it means I have to be very careful doing things like cooking or fighting. I could spill hot water on myself and not even notice.”

“Or cut yourself,” Siegbert blurted. His eyes were wide until Laslow nodded.

“Exactly. I could get hurt and not even realize until later. You know when you lay on your arm the wrong way, and when you get up again you can’t feel anything until your blood starts rushing back to that spot? My arm feels like that, except the feeling never comes back. So I have to be really careful when I’m doing something dangerous. My parents fussed over me a lot when I was younger. Your father and I were relieved when we decided you and Soleil hadn’t inherited the same thing.”

Siegbert nodded again, processing this information. They were nearly to the infirmary now, and a few passing guards gave Laslow a strange look when they saw his bloody towel. They let him pass without issue when they saw where they were headed, however.

“Father knows?” Siegbert asked.

“Of course,” Laslow said. “It was something we discussed before we decided to have you and Soleil, but he knew long before then too.”

Siegbert nodded again. “But you never told Soleil and I before?”

That one was also true, though a bit trickier. Laslow tried to think of how to word his answer.

“At first you were both too young,” he said slowly. “We were trying to decide if you had inherited my nerve damage, and we didn’t want you to worry about something that didn’t necessarily apply to you at first.”

Face ever so solemn, Siegbert waited for him to continue. Laslow averted his eyes.

“Then, after we decided you were both fine, it just felt a little awkward to bring up out of the blue, to be honest. Your Father and I decided to wait until it came up naturally. Like now.”

He flashed Siegbert a lopsided grin and came to a halt outside the infirmary doors. The pulse of blood oozing from his cult felt like it had slowed, but he didn’t lift the towel to check.

Siegbert looked at Laslow very seriously. Not for the first time, Laslow wondered if this wasn’t something he should have brought up sooner. But so long as the children weren’t being affected by anything, Xander had always said it was Laslow’s decision to choose when and how to disclose information regarding his own health. When the children were very young, Laslow hadn’t been sure that they’d fully be able to grasp the significance of what he was saying. Then, as they’d grown older, the thought of randomly revealing his condition had seemed increasingly awkward.

Not that he felt it was an awkward or embarrassing condition to have. He barely even thought of it as a “condition” in the first place. His nerve damage was just another fact about himself, similar to his hair color or his preference for blueberries—albeit an inconvenient fact.

But still, Laslow had found himself avoiding opportunities to tell the kids about his nerve damage over the past few years. Between royal duties and studies and bedtime stories, there had never seemed to be a natural segue in the conversation. Now he found himself wondering if he shouldn’t have created that segue himself sooner.

Eventually, Siegbert lifted his head.

“The reason you didn’t tell use before wasn’t because you thought I couldn’t handle the truth or anything, right?”

“Oh, Siegbert,” Laslow said. He crouched down so he and Siegbert were eye to eye. “Of course not. To be honest, I was a bit worried about what you and Soleil would think. I didn’t want you thinking your dad was…” He searched for the words he remembered strangers sneering at his father long, long ago. “Creepy or weird or anything like that.”

“Of course not!” Siegbert exclaimed, looking taken aback. “You’re my dad! How could Soleil or I ever think you were anything like that?”

Laslow smiled, a bit pained, thinking of all the names strangers had hurled at his own father. Some of the words might have been true, but that hadn’t made them hurt any less. Henry had been a strange one, but he’d still been Laslow’s father.

“Thank you,” he said, pulling Siegbert in for a one-armed hug. Siegbert was careful not to jostle his injured hand, and Laslow was careful not to accidentally wipe blood on him in turn. “I really appreciate that. I’m sorry for not telling you earlier.”

“I don’t think I really get it,” Siegbert said after a beat, finally ending the hug. Laslow wondered if it had ever occurred to Siegbert that either of his parents were human before. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to break that illusion now. “But it’s alright. I forgive you. But if you’re that worried, do you think we should tell Soleil soon?”

“Maybe.” Laslow put pressure on his cut through the towel again. “But maybe I should get this looked at first, yeah?”

Siegbert leapt into action. He threw the infirmary doors open.

“Of course! I’m sorry! Excuse me, could somebody please—”

Laslow almost laughed again at his son’s fussing. One of the medical staff wandered up before Siegbert was even fished calling for help, asking why the crown prince was so flustered. Laslow stood back, letting Siegbert take the reins once more. There was no real emergency here, but Siegbert sure felt like there was. It was good practice for the future.

Siegbert managed to explain the issue with minimal stumbling. The cleric took Laslow over to a patient bed as soon as they noticed the bloody towel. They peeled back the cloth and made a face when they saw the long, sluggishly bleeding cut underneath. Laslow appreciated the way they hummed in all the right places at Siegbert’s explanation even though they didn’t look at the prince. After a moment, the cleric told Siegbert and Laslow to wait and hustled off to find a minor healing potion.

“I think I’ll be fine from here on out,” Laslow told Siegbert after the cleric left. He winked. “You might want to hurry back to the kitchen before someone gets mad about the mess we made though. I’ll join you there in a few minutes.”

“Alright,” Siegbert said, but he didn’t make any moves to leave. He shifted on his feet and looked at Laslow’s cut, nasty as it was. Some of the blood had begun to dry on Laslow’s palm. “But actually, do you think I could…”

His lips pressed together. ”Nevermind.”

“You can stay here if you want,” Laslow suggested lightly.

Siegbert perked up. “Really?”

“Really. But that means you’ll have to share the blame with me when someone really does get mad about that mess we left in the kitchen.”

He was teasing, of course. Siegbert nodded seriously.

“I understand,” he said. He shuffled out of the way when the cleric came back with a small vulnerary in hand.

Siegbert hissed through his teeth and scrunched up his nose when the cleric poured the potion on Laslow’s hand and the wound began to steam, but he never tore his eyes away from the slowing healing skin. Laslow kept his fingers unfurled and sat patiently as his skin knitted itself together. When the cleric told him he was finished, he flexed his fingers.

He never felt a thing.

 

 

 

“Siegbert told me you had an accident today,” Xander said. He took Laslow’s left hand in his own, turning it over. They were both perched on the end of their bed, angled towards each other.

“It’s gone now,” Laslow said, letting Xander run his fingers along Laslow’s newly healed skin. He savored stolen moments like this.

Xander nodded. He swiped his thumb along the curve of Laslow’s hand and looked up.

“I can see that. He also told me that you discussed your reaction to said injury.” He caught Laslow’s eye. “Namely why it was so lacking.”

Laslow sighed, tired. He twisted his hand in Xander’s loose grasp and tangled their fingers together.

“I feel bad for not mentioning it sooner,” he said. “It wasn’t that I was trying to hide anything. It’s only…”

“It’s alright. You don’t need to justify anything to me.”

Xander lifted Laslow’s hand to his mouth and kissed the back of it. Over a decade of marriage, and Xander had never tired of romantic gestures like that. They still made Laslow’s romance-loving heart go light.

“I know I don’t,” Laslow said, melting a bit under Xander’s touch. “Siegbert might even say the same thing. But I’m still not sure. I do feel a bit guilty. Soleil is still young, but if everyone knows except her now, I don’t want her to find out later and feel left out.”

Xander, in his usual stoic way, let Laslow keep talking.

“It’s just not something I love bringing up, you know? I don’t mind at all. It’s better that others know in case something were to happen. But even so…”

“I understand,” Xander said when Laslow trailed off. “It can be an uncomfortable subject.”

He’d heard Laslow express these exact same worries a hundred times before in the exact same ways, but he was too good of a husband to chide Laslow over it. Laslow smiled at him softly.

“Thank you,” he said. Then he chuckled. “Do you remember when I was helping Felicia with a few things, and she managed to give me some superficial frostbite without either of us noticing? She still apologizes whenever we’re alone in a room together.”

Xander snorted, dropping Laslow’s hand. “I recall.”

He’d had a few sharp words to share with Felicia at that. It had only been a combination of Corrin’s sincerest apologies on behalf of their retainer and Laslow’s constant distractions that had kept Xander from saying anything too unduly harsh to the poor girl. That event had been embarrassing on multiple levels.

“Well,” Laslow said. The memory had sprung to mind, but now he’d decided not to linger on it too long if it could be avoided. “Just like that time, nobody was seriously hurt.”

Xander’s unimpressed stare clearly disagreed, so Laslow barreled on.

“And something good came out of this accident too!”

“Oh?” Now Xander’s interest was piqued. “Do tell.”

Laslow winked conspiratorially. “I think our son has a good career in the culinary arts ahead of him if this king business doesn’t work out for him.”

Xander huffed, amused. Laslow pressed his palms against the bedspread and leaned in closer.

“No, really! He’s quite good with a knife! Unlike me, obviously. Given an apprenticeship and a little time, I’m sure he’d make quite the chef in a few years.”

Laslow leaned closer and closer to his husband as he joked. Xander shook his head, but Laslow could tell he was amused. He leaned in towards Laslow, and his lips brushed Laslow’s cheek.

“Please try to keep from bleeding to death in front of our son the next time you two decide to use anything aside from practice swords together,” Xander said. “Soleil would be a good queen, but I’m afraid she still needs supervision in the bath at this point. Give it a few more years, please.”

“No promises,” Laslow said, giving him a lopsided smile.

Xander rolled his eyes but kissed him.

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to leave a comment below or hit me up on my [tumblr!](http://someobscurereference.tumblr.com/) I get a lot of FE14 meta and fic related asks there, so feel free to browse through my "asks" or "fe14" tag for some extra stuff from me and your fellow readers that you may not see over here. Or send in a question of your own if you had one! Thanks for reading!


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